


Getting Supplies

by ladykiki



Category: A-Team (TV)
Genre: Forgot the fedora, Gen, Prompt Fic, and the mutual admiration, suspenders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladykiki/pseuds/ladykiki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Guys, gals, germ-lings: I have an overwhelming NEED for some type of loveliness in the form of suspenders (not the UK kind, the over the shoulder, hold up pants kind) and/or a fedora on our lovely Murdock with Face admiring. Or vice versa. Or both."</p>
<p>What Murdock asks for, Face delivers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Supplies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purrslink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purrslink/gifts).



Murdock had forgotten he was supposed to get a package by the time the call came, so there was no need to fake the surprised kid-on-Christmas-morning enthusiasm that carried him across the room to the desk. It earned him an indulgent smile from Nurse Jenny and an eye-roll from Bill the Orderly, but that was half the fun and most of the point, so he counted it a win.

And then he pouted. “You opened it already.” While the inside flaps blocked his view of the inside, the outer flaps gaped open. “I wanted to open it.”

“We always open them, Mr. Murdock,” Jenny said calmly. “We have to make sure everything is safe.”

“But I wanted to open it.”

“You wouldn’t have anything to open the tape with.”

“I’ve got fingernails. And teeth. Did you know my younger cousin Chucky used to open milk cartons with his teeth?”

“Mr. Murdock—”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Bill snapped, suddenly pulling the box over. Jenny looked put-out as he folded the flaps one on top of the other before pulling the corner of the first flap over the last, and Murdock cocked his head as the box was shoved back in front of him. “There.”

That just might have been the sweetest thing Bill had ever done for him.

Murdock grinned and wrapped the box up in his arms. “Can I open it in my room?”

Jenny looked like someone had flipped the room on her. She forced a smile and folded her hands on the countertop. “Of course, Mr. Murdock.”

“Move it.” Bill prodded his shoulder to start him moving, and Murdock obliged, bouncing ahead a few steps before sliding back to press into Bill’s personal space. 

A hand pressed into his back kept him moving as he said, “What do you think it is?”

“Murdock—”

“Did you peek? I bet you peeked. You aren’t supposed to peek!” He skipped forward so he could turn and point an accusing finger in the larger man’s face. 

Bill sighed and rolled his eyes, batting Murdock’s hand away with the lazy tolerance of a man who had to put up with similar behavior on a regular basis. “I don’t know what’s in the box.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Because it’s not polite to peek.”

“It’s not my job to check through your toys.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think it’s toys if you didn’t peek?”

If BA could glare loudly (and there was definite volume to the big guy’s glares that said he could), then Bill could roll his eyes loudly, and the orderly did just that before reaching out to prod him sideways down the foot of the ell – not that it was really an L, since it continued on into a new L around the next corner, but they wouldn’t be going that far so it was an L.

“Everyone always sends you toys.”

“You don’t.”

Bill’s glares would never be as volume-ous as BA’s, but the orderly let his speak for him as he opened the door to Murdock’s room and held it while he entered. 

Murdock whirled to face him from just inside. “You might want to work on your attitude before three spirits come to visit you, Mr. Scrooge.”

The door closed harder than necessary and the lock slid home with a distinct *click.* He sidled close so that his face was in the window when Bill peeked in.

The orderly jerked back, frowning while Murdock grinned. “Behave,” he ordered. “Damn loony.” 

“Christmas is coming, Mr. Scrooge.”

Bill didn’t so much as glance back, just strode quickly and disappeared around the corner. 

Murdock counted three Mississippis, then glanced the other direction. Clear.

He crossed to the bed quickly and deposited the box on top, perching on the edge to pull the flaps apart and get at the treats inside. There was a stack of comics books, some of them new, two of them replacements for a couple that had been destroyed (he’d had to sacrifice one to the fire gods and BA’d eaten pages from the other); a new t-shirt with another graphic Face wouldn’t be caught dead in; a deck of cards; a packet of baseball cards (tongue in check, that); a small bag of candy with a new toothbrush; a bear holding a red heart. . . . and at the bottom, a pair of dress shoes, a fedora, a white dress shirt, and a pinstripe suit.

Grinning, he pulled them out, finding a new pair of socks rolled into the shoes, a needle tucked into the brim of the hat, and a note tucked into the pants.

‘Treat Snuggles well, now. It is your first date.’

Pursing his lips, he picked up the bear, looking past the heart that declared *Somebody Loves You* to the dark eyes staring back at him, and said, “Hello, Snuggles. Do you have a present for me?”

The bear didn’t answer, but he hadn’t expected it to. Instead, he flipped it onto its back and studied its backside. It only took a moment to find the loose string standing out of the seam. It took longer, much longer, for him to work it loose and out and get to the suspenders tucked inside. 

Psychiatric institutions had a funny preoccupation with certain types of objects: anything with a sharp or pointy edge, or anything that posed a choking hazard. Shoe strings, belts, telephone cords and suspenders all fell into that latter category, and the fact that he wasn’t a danger to himself or others had never made a difference concerning what items he was allowed to have. Face, in the correct guise, asking the correct way, had been known to effect change, but Murdock liked to consider the conman a last resort. 

Especially since they rarely took away anything he managed to lay claim to inside the ward. 

Re-closing the seam was a little harder again than opening it had been, but it was still the work of only a few minutes. Before he’d even finished whistling Dixie, he was up and shucking t-shirt, khakis and Chucks, dancing a little in place because they kept the ward cold. But the end result. . . .

Murdock fixed the shirt sleeves, then smoothed the front of the jacket and checked his reflection. Too smooth by half, he decided, and tilted the fedora to a jauntier angle. He grinned. “Now you’re just a snake in the grass, old chap. A snake in the grass.”


End file.
